Remember the smell of mothballs in Carla's attic while we searched for old records? She claimed they were haunted, but we just danced to tunes of Elvis under the flickering bulb.
Join another journeyYears ago, at Margot's garden party, we sipped lemonade and discussed if the peacock could escape. That was supposed to be the end of summer, but it stretched forever.
Listen hereShe always folded her napkin thrice, just like her grandmother, the one with stories of silver spoons and porcelain bowls that made her tea parties magical and mysterious.
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